deadly beautiful
by ghettos
Summary: He never saw the blade as it landed in his heart - For her beauty was as lethal as a deadly poison dart. - He never saw the cruel smile that played on her lips - He couldn't even cry out as death gave him its kiss. /Winner of Best Drama and First Runner-up for Best Character Portrayal on The Madrigal Awards, Round 6.


_A/N: So, this is my second one-shot. {I'm not sure poems count, so.} I can't guarantee that all of you will like it, but do review and give me your opinion. For my dear Isabel, once more._

_The quatrain down there was written by me and my best friend during a poetry spree we were on in school._

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><p>This oneshot is dedicated to Joyce, or Cascading Rainbows. Thanks for beta-ing it :)<p>

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><p><em>He never saw the blade as it landed in his heart<em>

_For her beauty was as lethal as a deadly poison dart._

_He never saw the cruel smile that played on her lips_

_He couldn't even cry out as death gave him its kiss._

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><p><strong>I.<strong>

_**Beautiful**_

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><p>It was impossible to forget her, even when she merely brushed by you. One glance at her and you would be captivated by her elegant figure, her full lips, her shapely nose, and her sparkling, wide, amber eyes that gave off the impression that she was innocent. Men forgot their names by simply staring at her. Her appearance evoked stirrings of jealousy and envy deep within women. She could have easily been a glamorous movie star, or even Miss Universe.<p>

And she never failed to leave an impression.

Whenever she was caught in the act, all she would have to do was bat her eyelashes coquettishly and perhaps throw in a few honeyed words. Whoever she was talking to wouldn't even remember what she had been doing beforehand. The effect her beauty had on people was overwhelming, one glimpse was all it took for her appearance to intoxicate you.

He, of course, was a different case altogether; they had warned her before she even set off on her mission. He would not be so easy to trick, he was more alert than most, his senses heightened, his intellect sharpened. She had scorned their cautions – after, all she _was_ Isabel Vesper-Hollingsworth – but nevertheless, she had approached him with a hint more trepidation than she usually would.

_Dressed to kill._ Those words usually meant nothing to her, but that night she finally understood the literal meaning of it. Her instructions had been simple. Dressed to kill – it was to intoxicate him so that she would be able to extract her information easily before killing him.

Her dress was red, slit up one thigh, and fanned out when she twirled. _Red._ An appropriate colour. The colour of blood. It was a shame that she could not bring a gun with her, it would have been too prominent for the dress clung to her graceful figure. She knew that it was vital she look her very best that night.

Entering the ballroom, she located her target within seconds. He looked just as she had been told – impossibly sharp features, and a pair of hawk-like eyes that never stopped flickering around the ballroom. A thrill went through her as she headed to him, and put on her most dazzling smile.

"Good evening, sir."

He turned to her with his elegant eyebrows arched. She forced the smile to remain even as those sharp, beady eyes scanned her briefly, obviously analyzing her as a potential threat. He was even more so cautious that her elders had realised, she noted, as they both stood there, neither one moving.

Finally, his lips pulled into a cold, unpleasant smile, and he returned the greeting. She extended a hand, and he gently brought it to his lips and kissed it. She continued to watch him with widened eyes, and he relented.

"May I have this dance?"

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><p><strong>II.<strong>

_**Charming**_

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><p>She had been known to talk her way out of the most dire of situations. Her tongue was sharp, and quick, and she was able to cause even the most stoic of men to blush at her flattery. But she wasn't known for flattering people, she was known for being <em>charming.<em>

"Oh, Professor Trundle, you look fine tonight..."

"I've heard of the research you were doing on marine biology, Dr. Hastings, very impressive..."

"Congratulations on succeeding on executing the heart transplant, Dr. Percival, amazing job you did..."

Just words like those could charm her victims into falling instantly in love with her, coupled together with her fine looks. She was always there with a bright smile, and nice words to offer. No one ever doubted whether her words were genuine, she delivered them in a way that was just so convincing, and so sincere.

They danced for many dances, and made small talk throughout it. They never once mentioned their names, even as they talked about their hobbies, and interests. This was harmless chit-chat that they would forget after leaving the ball.

Or so he thought.

"Mr. Lyle, you are a fine dancer," she praised him as they began to twirl beneath the dim lights as the music morphed to a slow, soothing sarabande. His eyes were on her face in an instant, and those black, beady pupils stared at her suspiciously. She maintained her most innocent smile at him, and after a few minutes, he returned the gesture, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly. He was not entirely trusting, however. She could tell that he would be a lot harder to convince than the rest of her victims.

"As are you."

He spoke only three words, but she refused to be discouraged, instead thinking of those three words as a beginning to earning his trust. She blushed, slightly, and lowered her gaze. "Thank you."

She could feel his gaze on her as they continued to dance slowly, revolving on the spot. The notes rose into a flurry of trills, and she spun out before twirling back into his arms gently. As they continued to waltz, he asked her, quietly, "How did you know my name?"

A ridiculous slip. She blushed again, her mind racing and working up an excuse within seconds. "I...hear that name around often. There are rumours of how intelligent you are, and how..." She gave a nervous little laugh, "...dashing you are." Her act was polished to perfection, it was impossible that he would have suspected a thing – she appeared just as she desired to, an innocent young lady deeply smitten with him.

"Hmm." His gaze softened, and she peered at him through her lashes shyly, giving him a coy smile.

"Those rumours are true," she admitted, like a bashful little girl. "And...more."

"More?"

"You are more dashing than I had imagined." She was really laying on it thick, but as usual, her victim didn't notice a thing. He was simply another rich, arrogant Cahill, who would fall straight into her trap, as the many that had before him.

"And...I've also heard of your vast wealth," she said, looking up at him. This was it. "But...this is more than I imagined."

"This isn't my home," He informed her with a lilting edge to his voice. Of course she knew that, but it was all part of the act. What a fool. He assumed that she didn't know such a thing when she had been invited to the cotillion? Goodness.

"Oh?" She made her tone seem surprised. Her cheeks coloured once more. "Well..."

"I can show you my home," he whispered. Her head snapped up, startled by his words.

"R-really?" He nodded again, and beckoned to her. He withdrew his hand from her waist, and taking her petite fingers in hers, started to tug her gently across the ballroom. She smiled as she followed, for she knew that he had fallen right into her trap.

As she knew he would.

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><p><strong>III.<strong>

_**Deadly**_

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><p>His house was located in the suburbs, and it was almost an hour's drive. Trees lined the road, and the sea glimmered under the moonlight on one side. Up ahead, his mansion loomed.<p>

He was the prey, and she was the hunter. Even as she watched him through narrowed eyes as he drove his convertible, she knew what would happen next. The routine was always the same. There would be wine, she knew, and small talk. Then there would be mild kissing, and when they were both drunk and happy, she would begin to question him. In his drunken stupor, he would answer her, and she would kill him. He wouldn't even see it coming.

Just as she anticipated, after she stepped out of the glossy red Ferrari, he guided her through the mansion and into his own, oh-so-private loft. She barely glanced around but pretended to be impressed as he sent for a bottle of 1976 Masi Amarone – my, _my_, he _was_ trying to impress her so – and when the wine arrived, settled into her usual act.

"This wine is divine," she said as she sipped the wine, which he had poured into two large crystal goblets. She tilted the glass slightly, admiring the heavy crystal as it caught the light and filtered it into rainbow-coloured splashes. "It's..._alive,_ so as to speak. It tastes like night and day. Beautiful earthy sulfides on the nose...and it's so clean and fresh! You must have paid a bomb for it." As she spoke, she drew a small paper packet from her pocket, and shook it a little, causing a few grains of white powder to fall out.

He idly examined the bottle label as he removed his jacket and tossed it onto the couch. "No, not really." She smiled at that too. He was trying so _hard_, but then again, all of them did. The small paper packet was back in her pocket, and empty, by the time he turned around.

"What businesses do you dabble in, Mr. Lyle?" She asked him, propping her elbows on her knees and watching him carefully.

"Not much," he replied airily, taking another sip. The wine obviously helped him loosen up, as opposed to his tight, reserved self he had been previously. He took a huge gulp this time around and exhaled the wine fumes into the room. She sniffed slightly as the strong scent hit her, but this was progress, because he was really opening up to her.

She gave him a small smile, and took another sip, averting her gaze as he removed a box of cigars and offered one to her. She accepted one graciously, despite not smoking. Her teeth would be in a state of despair if she did. He lit up his own cigar, and offered her the lighter. She watched as the flames licked at the end of her cigar, burning the paper and releasing a gust of scented smoke. She checked her watch. 9:07 p.m. Still early enough.

Lifting the cigar to her mouth, she took a drag of heavily perfumed smoke and gagged. He smiled at this as he released smoke from his own mouth. She coughed politely and changed the topic tactfully. "So, Mr. Lyle, what do you think of...movies?"

"Movies?" His eyes widened at her choice of topic.

"I like treasure-hunting movies the most." She said, skillfully directing their chit chat towards business. "It seems the most fantastical."

He let out a laugh at this point. "Fantastical? Why, my dear, it is as close to real life as it gets."

"Oh, no." She protested. "Maybe you understood me wrong. I meant those movies in which you decode letters, and they direct you to the next clue to finding a treasure. Like the City of Gold."

"I understand you," he said, waving his cigar in the air, sending clouds of smoke flying across the room. "And I meant it. Treasure-hunting is pretty much my reality."

"Your reality?" She repeated curiously. "But – how is that possible?"

"It's a very complicated story. I've been all over the world in search of Clues – India, Vietnam, Spain, France, Morocco – and many more. Come to think of it, I have a flight next week to..." He trailed off.

"To?" She prompted.

His eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

Despite the alcohol, he was still a little alert. But in this state, he wouldn't take much coaxing. "I just want to know," she pouted, her eyes wide. Somehow, he couldn't stop staring at those enchanting amber eyes, framed with dark, feathery lashes, the picture of pure innocence...

"I guess it couldn't hurt to tell you," he said grudgingly. "After all, you don't know what it's all about?"

She shook her head, not taking her eyes off him.

He beckoned her closer. She edged forwards. Finally, when they were mere millimeters away, he whispered, "Venice," into her ears. "That's where the stronghold is." Then she drew away, and kept the smile on her face. However, this smile was genuine. He was a Janus, and she had just figured out where their stronghold was. Magnificent.

"Thank you," she whispered back, and kissed him softly on the cheek. He blushed like a fool as she turned away from him.

Her fingers inched towards the hem of her red dress. Yes, she did not bring her gun for it would have been too obvious. She did not want a bulky shape to ruin her appearance and mark her out as a threat.

But a blade – a thin, razor-sharp blade would have been easy to conceal, strapped to her left leg. Nobody would have noticed it at all. It barely caused a protrusion, and even she herself hardly knew it was there.

She drew it out from the soft leather sheath strapped to her leg. Fingering the blade felt good. Once more, she had the upper hand. But it this job would be as easy as any other. She turned around, concealing the blade behind her back.

He stared once more into her eyes, entranced, as she walked towards his, hips swaying slightly, a tantalizing smile on her ruby red lips. She bent down until she was on top of him, her lips shaping a single word.

"Goodbye."

"Wait, I don't even know your name," he slurred, his vision going hazy from the alcohol. And the drug she had put in his drink – if the alcohol had not intoxicated him, it would have.

She smiled at him a final time, and her smile grew cruel. "You won't need to." He uttered a low groan as his eyelids fluttered shut. Staring down at his form, she used two fingers to locate the exact spot of his heart, then removed those fingers and stabbed down. Hard.

He barely even made a sound.

It was 9:58 p.m., and a small shape slipped into a glossy red convertible and drove off the premises, down the winding country road. The figure checked her watch with a smile.

_Three...two...one..._

And behind her, there was an explosion. Fire blossomed from the site like a massive flower, opening its petals to the sky. Debris flew, and smoke trailed from the blazing inferno. The figure merely laughed and continued driving.

Another clean job. Another job well done.

Next stop – Venice.


End file.
